Revival: An Alternate History Saga
by timepilgrim
Summary: The Goddess Athena, angered by how her Greeks are treated in the First Crusade, reawakens. Magic does along with her. Hilarity Ensues. Welcome to a New World.
1. Legions

_**Varus, give me back my legions! -Emperor Augustus**_

Bishop Ademar was huffing and puffing. He had come to this forsaken land to free it from it's chains, not become chainfved himself.

"Soldiers?" He shouted. In his pouting frustration, he noticed that about half his soldiers had gone to the small village near him. He became disconcerted by this, knowing that these rowdy crusader soldiers often went without permission to loot and pillage. Or commit even worse acts.

"Those of you who followed my order to wait for me, come with me now. We have to find those soldiers who chose to wander off." Ademar mounted his horse, and rode alongside a soldier he liked well enough. "Lord give me strength" He muttered.

"Bishop?" The soldier asked. He was concerned about Ademars health.

"Soldier, it is nothing, I swear. Well, not much anyways. I just…despise these soldiers. I am glad that they are here, crusading for Jerusalem of course. But…if they could act like Christians, instead of like Gallic barbarians, or the Muslims. But no, they want to loot and pillage the countryside. The _Christian_ countryside." Ademar waved away his thoughts. "But, we will find them. I should've prevented this mass looting earlier, but I think it's better to be late then to never act at all."

The soldier nodded. "I would say so sir."

"Of course, we would all rather be at Nicaea. Instead, that weasel Bohemond sends us out here so that he can scheme on how to depose Emperor Alexios. Well, he won't succeed. Hopefully, he at least accomplishes getting Nicaea."

"He will sir." The soldier smiled. He was some basic spearman, with little more then a wood shield and sturdy spear. Ademar pitied him, but he was good company none the less. And even better, he spoke French.

The area around Nicaea was not completely barren, but like much of Anatolia, it was nothing you could call fertile. Markets and little farms dotted the area, with a small village called Nuz keeping the whole thing together. Nuz had not yet been looted, and it was to stay that way under Ademar. However, the soldiers he was looking for had other ideas, one of which was probably to pillage the city for gold it did not have.

After almost an hour of riding, Ademar and his loyal soldiers arrived, and saw the disloyal soldiers leaving with arms full of food. However, the back five soldiers of the disloyal runts had a different prize.

Young women.

"What in God's name?!" Ademar shouted. He quickly did the cross on his body, hoping heaven above would forgive him for taking God's name in vein. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Bishop, we found these women! We haven't felt the touch of a woman in months, years maybe!" One soldier said, licking his lips like a dog with new meat.

"Wha-No! No, no, no!" Ademar dismounted and drew his sword. Only supposed to be used for defense, he was ready to slay these fools if they were willing to defile God in his presence.

"Hey! I don't think Bohemond would be too happy if you killed us!" The lead soldier said. There were forty soldiers, who had left his detachment of one hundred. Luckily, the few knights Ademar had stayed loyal.

The leading soldier, a man called Rolkin, realized this. He drew his sword as well.

Ademar, dumbfounded, called his soldiers over to get into formation. Soon, it was clear who would win.

"Why can't we?!" Shouted Rolkin, whose soldiers were shaking in fear. The desert sun was high above Anatolia, and everyone but well clothed Ademar was baking.

"Because not only is it un-Christian, these people _are_ Christian!" Ademar shouted. "You are raping your own people, the people of the Book!"

"Yada, yada, yada!" Said Rolkin. Ademar was furious now. "Who gives two craps about God, eh? I'm here for riches and flesh, not faith and freedom!" Rolking was clearly a nobleman. A peasant would never speak to his better like this.

"Would you shut—" Ademar began, when Rolkin suddenly slashed out at him. He mostly missed, only cutting Ademar a little bit. Then, while Ademar was on the ground and getting up, Rolkin ran as fast as he could back to Nuz. He and his soldiers holed up in the villages storehouse, which was fairly large to keep all the food they didn't have in there.

Ademar, after being bandaged and given the green light that he wasn't going to die, mounted his horse, and chased after Rolkin. When he arrived, all but ten of the most depraved soldiers of Rolkin's force were standing there.

"He's lost it sir, really lost it!" One said.

That soldier that Ademar liked, without hesitation, peered into the storehouse. He lived, after someone tried to rip his head off with their shield, and looked at Ademar with a strange expression. One of fear and terror, mixed with surprise.

"He's about to rape her!" the soldier shouted. Ademar was horribly angry, ready to send the cur to the depths of Hell, when he heard some commotion. Then, a woman, tall and with light brown skin, burst from the house. The armor clad Rolkin, his pants at his legs and his member swinging like a sword, ran out with his eyes like a wild bear. Ademar was now just as frightened as the woman. He readied himself.

The woman fell to the ground. She was wearing some middle noblewoman garb. She looked at Rolkin. The other women had attempted to run as well, but were in the hands of the other soldiers that were like Rolkin.

The woman in front of Ademar on the ground had a strange look. She was oddly athletic looking, with a fit body and chest, defined legs and arms, and a tall look to her. She was tall, to say that. A little more so then Rolkin.

"I like this one!" Rolkin said. "She's feisty!"

"Oh my God!" Ademar exclaimed. He couldn't move. Rolkin's evil had paralyzed him.

"Please, I am a scholarly women! I can give you anything, _anything_ , as long as you let me go home!" She shouted. "Please!"

"Ohh, a smart one!" Being a noble, Rolkin could speak Greek. "Maybe when I rub on you, your smarts will rub onto me!"

Rolkin grabbed her. Ademar lunged at Rolkin, but was hit back. Ademar was getting up when the woman looked to the sky. The blue sky was light and filled with fluffy clouds. The desert sun shone on Anatolia.

"I am in need of help! I have done all I can, yet me and my fellow women are trapped. God has chosen not to help me, so I beg you, Goddess Athena, hear my prayer!" The woman shouted. Everyone stopped. Rolkin was holding back laughter, while for a moment, Ademar was dumbstruck. Flabbergasted, confused and freaked out. She was a different type of hertic.

Then, booming from the sky, screaming like a ravens screech and speedy like a wolf on the hunt, a massive, unnatural bolt of blue lightning struck the woman. She screamed, as the bolt of pure blue lightning coursed through her. It struck at her heart, and all Ademar could do was stare in awe.

In awe. In awe. That was all anyone did. Look in awe, as the awesome power of a God not their own made this woman scream. She screamed and screamed and screamed, a power nobody had ever comprehended rippiling through her. Ademar could see it, blue stealing her veins, her eyes filling up with electricity. Then came a voice.

" _ **I AM THE GODDESS ATHENA! YOU HAVE TREATED MY PEOPLE POORLY NO MORE!"**_ It shouted. A womens voice, deep and angered, rang across the land. Then, a bolt of lighting struck the other women. They all screamed, banshee screeches that rung like church bells from the depths of hell.

"God save us all!" Rolkin shouted. Ademar looked at Rolkin with disgust, as he cowered in fear. Rolkin's pants were still down, which Ademar told him to pull up. Rolkin did as he asked.

"God save us?! I hope God saves us!" Shouted Ademar.

" _ **YOUR GOD CAN'T SAVE YOU NOW! HEAR MY POWER, FEEL MY ANGER! I VISIT UPON ANATOLIA THE RAGE OF THE GREEKS! MAGIC REAWAKE!"**_ Then, the women were all lifted a few inches from the ground. They were no longer screaming, for out of their mouths came a deep rumble. The clouds came together, the sun was blotted out by the bleak clouds. All the world was dark but for the lightning. The soldiers began to weep. Ademar began to beg on his knees.

Then, the final booming command.

" _ **FEEL THE POWER OF ALL THE GODS! OLYMPUS REAWAKEN, CHRISTEN ME YOUR RULER, AND LET MY PEOPLE DO WONDERS!"**_

And then, the clouds sped off, the sun returned, and a flash of light threw every one on their backs. The women were slowly lowered. Their eyes re-opened, as if they were newborns come into the world. They looked around. The leading one, felt herself, as if she was a new woman. Then, like a rocket from the stars, a chest plate of glowing iron came from the sky, and locked onto the woman. Then a hoplites spear into her hand, and then a Spartans helmet onto her head. She took it off, and examined it. Ademar examined it from afar, too broken to even speak. Rolkin looked at it. He stood up, trembling legs and feet. His arms shook with despair.

Despair. Yes, that is a good way to describe these foolish knights and spearmen.

"I…" The woman began. She felt the spear. Then, she froze for a minute, before un-freezing.

"I am Zoe, Representative of Athena on Earth!" She shouted. She then stood triumphant, and an aura of blue light glistened around her, and a light aura around the others. "I will rid you of the Holy Land!"

Ademar stood up, looked at her, and then promptly started to step towards her. He could tell she was made taller by the lightning, for she stood at an immense eight feet tall. She dwarfed the small Bishop, who barely walked as he neared her. She looked down on him.

She then pushed the Bishop aside, and looked at Rolkin. Rolkin opened his mouth to speak, when she thrust her arm right through his chest, pulled out his heart, and crushed it like it was a leaf in her hand. Blood spilled everywhere, and Rolkin fell to the ground.

Ademar ran to his horse, as she used magic previously unheard off to slaughter the Crusaders. She called upon arrows of fire and javelins of ice to pierce the Crusaders. She let Ademar and that one soldier go, they knew that as they rode back to Bohemond.

When they arrived, Bohemond didn't believe them until she was standing over a hill, with almost two thousand Greeks with her. The four other women who gained powers with her as well. Bohemond looked upon the force with fear.

God had left them. Abandoned them in a land supposedly holy. Magic had reawakened. No God could save them now.

It had been three weeks since Emperor Alexios heard of the news. Tens of thousands of soldiers, slaughtered by this mysterious women, this Zoe. Near him, a top military aide was standing.

Alexios was a smart man, and new his time was near. He would follow the example of Justinian, and stay in the city of dreams, this heaven, his Constantinople, until she came and forced him out. The Greeks were, apparently, giving up the ghost on God. Alexios would not, no matter what. His daughter had left as well, so he stood alone. Alone, in a city to big to be alone in.

"Sir, what would you like me to do? I can send more soldiers to slaughter the girl. She is, after all, just a girl."

Alexios looked at him. He frowned and nodded.

"Varus?" Alexios said.

"What, my name is no—"

"Give me back my legions." And Alexios retired to his bedroom.


	2. Greek Reborn

_**Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end. -Seneca the Elder**_

When Zoe was a young girl, she enjoyed her time running around and playing in the small but fun fields outside Nuz. The markets were always a place to play tag, and to prank and joke with the shop keeps. The shop keeps were always smiling with the kids, all except a fruit vendor named Basil, who hated children and all other things good in the world.

It was also when Zoe was young that she discovered the magic of books. Because her family had some money, instead of no money, they always kept a few books floating around the house so that when people visited, they would think they had read them. However, Zoe took to them with a passion. She delighted in the journeys of heroes and beasts, and always had the most fun reading those ancient texts that described the Greek heroes and myths.

Her father and mother, seeing their Christian daughter doing this, immediately attempted to stop it. They were good Christians, and did not want the only leverage they had on the Earth corrupted by philosophers and myths. They sent her to read the Bible, but she never enjoyed it like she did the mythological accounts. The Bible, to her at least, was boring, scary, weird and stupid. However, to please her parents, she began to memorize the Bible.

Then, another of her characteristics shone through. Her immense intelligence. It seemed that, if given the chance, she would gobble all the knowledge in Anatolia, and probably more then that. She was always "secreting books away" as she called it to a friend of hers. She was, in reality, stealing from a local nobleman, a true nobleman. He hadn't read any of the books of course, but they were expensive. She enjoyed the rush.

In her teenage years, she was already becoming a nuisance to her family, to Nuz, and to anyone else who crossed her path. She had played sports with the local young men of the town, beating them in many competitions. She then beat her father in a game of chess, even though he had never lost in Nuz. She grew to be an astounding six foot three, dwarfing many of the men in the village, and making many of them feel quite imasculatied. She was constantly attempting debates with everyone from her like minded friends, to illiterate farmers, artisans and peasants who just wanted to buy some bread and move on with their wretched lives.

Finally, as she entered young adulthood, her family had enough. Not only had she not listened to them at all, it was believed by the local priest, a man named Cadimarus, that she was being corrupted by a local man named Cy. The priest also said he caught this woman, this example of un-Christian behavior, kissing a woman. Even though her father had seen her kiss a boy once, this didn't surprise him. At all.

The priest recommended that she be inducted into a local nunnery, not far from Nicaea. The family agreed, and sent her off.

Ten weeks later, just as harvest was coming in, she showed up at their doorstep with a furious Father Cadimarus. Cadimarus told her to sit down.

"Do you know what your God forsaken daughter did to the Nunnery?!" He shouted. The father gulped, and looked at his wife. Why them? Why them, of all the people of Nuz? Why not the Sadigans, who once tried to steal his goats.

"She laid with a nun! A damn nun! Your daughter laid in bed with a nun, stealing her innocence, and her own innocence!" Cadimarus started to pace the house angrily, or as angrily as possible. The father, for his worth, didn't even believe it.

"What's more!" Cadimarus shouted. There was more? "She was caught reading several children some, some, some _crap_ from the Arabs! She _insisted_ it was translations from Greek! How does she know Arabic?! Huh?! How in God's name does she know Arabic!?" Cadimarus was in the fathers face now.

"I…well…I don't know!" The father told the truth as he spoke, and he meant every word he said. The mother chimed in.

"Father Cadimarus, our daughter has always had a knack for learning and such. She probably just picked it up from one of our books." The mother was quiet, reserved and shy, like a woman of Anatolia should be. Her daughter, Zoe, broke all the rules established. Was she not a true believer in Christ? Had they failed as parents? Were they not good Orthodox people?

Zoe, for her part, found it all to be absurd. She had read the Bible, found it stupid and sordid, and chose to read those Greek epics instead. She always imagined herself an Athena, joining Zeus on Mount Olympus.

Now, had she slept with a nun? Yes. Should she have done that?

She chose not to answer that question.

Still, absurdity! Smart, good looking, strong, everything you would want in a male son. Why not her? She was smarter then her stupid father, the dunder-head. She suddenly stood up, and walked out on the conversation.

Father Cadimarus waved her away. He cared little for her. She was a stupid girl anyway.

Sitting outside, she held a stick in her hand, like she was a hoplite of old. She was sitting with a girl friend named Aria, and a local Byzantine soldier named Castor.

"I understand you do not really like the teachings of the Lord, but you must understand—" Castor started, but she threw her hands up in anger.

"Understand what? That, that, I'm supposed to just _give up?_ " She sighed, heavy and deep with regret. Regret of being born to a Christian household. Regret of being a heretic, which she was no doubt. Her girl friend comforted her.

"We always liked to hang in the granary. Lets go there for a bit." Aria said. Zoe nodded. But as they walked, she thought to herself. What a world, what a world. Cadimarus was back in her house, waiting for her to return so he could scold her again. Another scolding, another day. Everyday until she died, probably. And she mused.

What she would give to be a Greek Reborn.

She opened her eyes. Looking around, the lightning that was streaking toward her was no longer a threat. Rather, she was in some strange plane of reality. Not in front of the granary anymore, being held prisoner by that Western brute. She was among none of her companions or foes. Of course, she didn't even know where Castor was in the real world.

She stood up. She held her arm as she looked around. Turning, she saw that she was in a court of sorts. Twelve massive seats, with statues of those old Greek Gods, cracked and ruined. They were falling onto the floor, which rippled like water but was solid like land. Was this hell? Was this Limbo?

"Neither, my child." Came the deep, resounding voice of a woman. The woman was wearing a toga, with a Spartan helmet and a chest plate of bronze.

"Where…where am I?" Zoe asked. She was terrified, but was too confused to run or panic.

"Why's it matter?" The woman said. Zoe saw her, tall as a tree, strong as an ox, smiling like a child. Zoe looked to her right.

A mirror, one she didn't see before, showed her reflection. Her short, groomed black hair that sat on her head. Her light brown complexion, her athletic body. She felt face, to know it was her. That this was real.

"You know, I always liked the curious. Those seeking out more." The woman said. She stopped smiling, and looked at the seats. The woman pointed to one. "That one's my father. What a dick, eh? But you know all about that." The woman looked at Zoe.

"Are…Are these the Greek Gods?" Zoe asked. She was trembling now.

"Seems to be." The woman said. "And I am all that's left. I thought…" The woman held back tears, and frowned in anger, clenching her powerful fists. The woman then looked down at Zoe. "I thought that I would be…standing here, the person who awakened the Gods and Goddess'. But they're time is gone, I guess."

Zoe was confused, to say the least.

"Then…Who are you?"

She smiled. The woman laughed a hearty laugh. "Why, my child, I am Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and War!" Athena lowered her head to Zoe's level. "And you, my child, are my messenger."

"But…But…I…"

"Called for help, if I remember?" Athena said. She cocked her head to the left. The reflecting floor rippled. "Yes. I remember."

"But…why me?" Zoe asked.

"Don't look for answers you already know." Athena said. Then she grabbed the hand of Zoe. Zoe felt her arms screaming with power, her head screaming with rage, her heart screaming with passion.

"Now go. Do my wonders!"

Zoe opened her eyes. Standing before her, a foolish bishop and a failed rapist. She looked down. She was taller then she was before, standing like a giant among these puny children. She clenched her fists. She felt a power like no other coursing through her, a deep beating something making her feel like a god. Was she a god? No…no. A mortal god. What was that called again?

A Demigod? Yes. Yes, a Demigod. Then, from the sky came a bronze chest plate and a spear.

After killing that foolish man who tried to have his way with her, she looked toward the bishop. He was a Catholic one, which explained why he was already on his knees.

"The power of Christ compels you!" Shouted Bishop Adhemar. Nothing. He pulled out a cross, and nothing happened. He fell to his backside, as she walked up to him. She lifted her hands, and tried to summon anything, and in her hands, came a ball of flame and fire.

"Are you one of the Crusaders?" She asked.

"Yes!" Adhemar replied. She smiled. The other women behind her, who seemed to be half like her, which makes them…something…smiled too. The soldiers all stepped back.

"Go and tell your Crusader friends that this is no longer the land of God. Nor is it the land of Allah. This is the land of Zeus, and Hera, and Athena." Zoe threw Adhemar across the desert sand. "And if you don't leave." She threw a fireball at one of Rolkin's compatriots, who set ablaze. "I will slaughter you all."

She and the others picked off some random soldiers, but stuck to their plan mostly. She turned to the four other women. They all were looking at themselves. Amazons, they were, yes, Amazons!

She wandered back into Nuz, with the villagers all backing away in understandable fright. Then, a familiar face ran out from the church.

"Foul Crusaders, face my uhhhhh—"

To say that Castor was surprised is an understatement. "Come on." She said. "I got something to show you." Zoe grabbed Castor and took him with her. He did not object. She also murdered Cadimarus as she left, for no real reason other then revenge.

She walked all the way to that nunnery, freed the nun she slept with, then walked all the way to Nicaea. She saw the Crusaders, who charged her. Not knowing what they were doing, she took great delight in slaughtering the lot. The Greeks she managed to bring with her took to the slaughter like lions to the prowl. Soon, even that famous Bohemond was on the ground, bleeding his life blood away.

And soon, the Emperor was next. For the glory of Olympus knows no bounds.


	3. Beware the Gallic Horde

_**I have tried to lift France out of the mud. But she will return to her errors and vomitings. I cannot prevent the French from being French. -Charles de Gaulle**_

 _Paris, May, the year of our Lord 1098_

King Philip was old now. He remembers those heady days when he first was crowned King, and all seemed good in the world. Now, though, he felt the weight of his choices upon him. "Philip the Amorous!" they would always call him, as if he was some kind of harlot. Some kind of whore. Was he? He thought not, he was in the pursuit of love. Either way, while he may not be excommunicated, he certainly felt like he was.

"Your Highness?" Called a soldier. Turning slowly and with thought, Philip saw the soldier. He was roughed up, his helmet missing and his spear gone as well. King Phillip, his old body moving with fear in every step that he might fall and end it all, confronted the soldier.

"How in God's name has this happened?" King Phillip roared. This was the fourth battalion to be slaughtered in the countryside of his kingdom, and to say it was disrupting trade and production was an understatement. If he was to believe the idiots who lived on those farms, then a coven of witches and warlocks, pledging their loyalty to the dead King Vercingetorix of Gaul, are terrorizing the area around Paris, Bordeaux, Toulouse, and Tours. Even worse, that bastard King Henry of England didn't seem to be giving back Normandy anytime soon. He had _real_ problems to deal with, not the incoherent madness of stupid villagers and peasants. France was above this madness, this uprising and nonsense.

"Your Highness, I know you are the King and all but...you have to believe me! It's real! All of it!" The soldier had a desperate sound to him, one of a man who was not speaking for just his life, but all lives he cherished. Philip, for his part, was not going to be tricked by a peasant.

"Soldier, you would do well to know your place. Leave at once." The soldier, the Divine Right of King Philip apparently in question, disobeyed. He threw his shield onto the ground.

"I will not leave until you do something!" He shouted. "I care not what you are the King of, because your subjects are being slaughtered outside your balcony! Do something, or face the mob!" King Philip turned to the would be freedom fighter. Who was this peasant, this useless villager, this replaceable serf? To think he could speak to the King like this?

"Listen here, boy." The King, old as he was, hobbled over as menacingly as he could to the soldier. Two heavily armed guards walked behind. The soldier stood his ground. "You will do as you say, or you will die."

The soldier looked at him. He closed his eyes. He raised his spear in the air, and then shoved it to the ground. From the crack it made, snakes rose from the castle cracks, and devoured the old King where he stood. Screaming as it happened, he begged for the guards to do something, but they ran as fast as they could to the exit.

King Philip was dead, gone and dust to the wind now. The soldier looked at his dead King. He had never felt so free.

 _Toulouse, May, the year of our Lord 1098  
_

Count Bertrand, who a year ago was just the son of his father Raymond, looked out over Toulouse. He had gotten the news of how his father really died from the Pope himself, who thought that he should know the truth. Of course, Betrand was shocked. He was just planning a comfy life, living as a count or if he was lucky, the count of some imaginary state of Crusaders. Now, though, he had to weigh his options. Pope Urban II, in a fit of anger and desperation to save his and Christendoms image, had called for a Second Crusade to begin immediately. The False Greeks who use these magics and tricks had to be punished, for they had stolen Constantinople. Then this whore of Babylon stole Athens, and renamed it Athenai after the ancient Greeks. This couldn't stand, and to make matters worse, apparently the Seljuk's had decided a Jihad was necessary to save the Kingdom of Rum.

Yet, all was not well in France. His citizens have brought disturbing reports of covens of witches and warlocks hiding out in the thick forests near him. They say that these bands have swore allegiance to the dead King Vercingetorix of Gaul. He would normally through these off as stupid and pedantic, but with how his father died...

He sent a messenger to the King. For now though, he would defend his city and his people. He called his commanders in, who stood before him.

"Men, I need you to help me." He said. The soldiers nodded. Donning their armor, mounting their horses, and riding with haste toward the affected villages, Bertrand and his commanders gathered any man they could muster. Then, as the dread of what was happening set in, he got any woman too. Anyone who still believed in God and wanted to fight, joined him on his little quest to save his city.

As he neared the village attacked, he saw that the whole place was alight. Fire licked toward the sky, smoke bellowed from the world. Was this Athena? Or someone else?

"Foolish Frenchman!" Came a mans voice. Standing half naked, holding a sword and with Celtic facepaint, was a warlock. Horns came from his head, and he had four eyes that blinked at different times. "Come to die?"

"No. Come to stop you." Bertrand said. The Count of Toulouse, dressed in his armor, dismounted and joined his levy army. Armed with little more then whatever armor he could muster together, this was a desperate defense. He had a feeling that this was going to be the case all over France soon.

"Ha!" The warlock shouted. Then, several monstrous creatures joined his side, along with witches and warlocks. After waving a staff, little dwarvish things joined him as well. "Have you heard of the Ankou? They are the henchmen of Death himself!" He then let out a screech, a cry that shook Heaven.

"Men, if we're lucky today, we'll all be Saints!" Bertrand shouted. "So stand firm! Stand tall! Stand with God!"

The Ankou had five horns, hooves like a boar, a snout like a horse but with a human mouth and teeth, with a long and gangling tongue. They charged like bulls, screamed like ghosts, and had eyes like spiders. They were demons, no doubt.

But these men were Godly. And Bertrand, never much a man like Raymond in terms of religion, at that moment decided that God was better then this.

When these foes all slammed into the shield wall, they killed many soldiers at first. But as hours passed, and the sun dipped beneath the horizon, luck finally struck. An arrow, fired by some screaming archer, pierced the arm of that warlock. Though it didnt stop the attack, it showed they could be hurt.

But, while a great last stand, it was no use. Bertrand, in the defense of God and Toulouse, and in his fathers image, died on that field. The warlock, who called himself Vaxini, grabbed the sword.

"A trophy." He said. Then he let a howl loose on the moon. Gaul had returned. God help us all.


	4. Legacies

**_O What a disgrace if such a despised and base race, which worships demons, should conquer a people which has the faith of omnipotent God and is made Glorious with the name of Christ!_** _  
_ ** _-Pope Urban II_**

 _The Vatican, August, the year of our Lord 1098_

"His Holiness, Pope Urban II." The guard hit his shield with his sword. But Pope Urban II, now more frail then he usually would be thanks to the stress, walked in with little fanfare. He looked around. He felt his heart flutter. He had failed, hadn't he? The French were embroiled in a desperate fight against those demons from the forests. Gaul...returned. And of course, Greece was lost to that woman. That heathen woman...this was all the fault of those Easterners excommunicating the last Pope. Whatever they would've been, no longer existed. They had faced the music of heathenism.

Pope Urban II coughed. He felt tired, old, and depressed. He had wanted to unite the lands of Christendom, bring the holy land back under the watchful eye of God and his only son. Now, God was collapsing fast. All that was built by the previous Pope's, all that was created by the previous Kings and Emperors. Charles Martel, Charlemagne, Riderch, Guthrum, Boris. Miezeko, Vladimir, Harald. All of their work to spread and save the faith, nothing more then a whisper in history now. In Eastern Europe, in the lands of the Poles, he was getting reports of Slavic monstrosities like Baba Yaga. In the north, a man who called himself The Thunderer had reclaimed Mjolnir and was slaughtering the people he called traitors. In Spain, the Re-Conquista which was progressing more and more was now a desperate defense of all the Iberian peninsula from a group of people who came from the sea, claiming they are the surviving the "water people". He doesn't really know what that means, and he doesn't plan on finding out anytime soon.

In Britain, the Fey and all other sorts of creatures returned. But perhaps the only thing that matched his fear about Greece was what came from the mists of the North Sea. Irishmen, those who could escape at least, report of a pale people on longship style boats. They called themselves the Tuatha De Danann. Urban II did not speak Celtic, or whatever, and didn't want to speak it. However, these people have already enslaved the entirety of Ireland, renamed it Eire, and declared that they were the rightful rulers of the island. On all fronts, Christ was retreating at the speed he spread. Oh God...was Urban the Pope to destroy it all.

He sat down. He looked around the room. These fools...these fools! All of them...what did they expect him to do now? France, Ireland, Spain...

Greece. Those God forsaken Greeks, who so quickly turned their back on their savior once a fancier, more flashy one arrived. Those accursed swine, those...traitors. Traitors! The lot of them...she was terrifying. Her swift conquest of Greece, and the destruction she left in

Anatolia. The Seljuk's, once the bane of Christendom, now retreated back to the mountains from which they came. In Greece, Zoe had decided that the Age of Men had come to an end. She was tired of men, that much was certain...even Urban could see that. She deposed all the kings and counts, and replaced them with women. Her closest companions became Agaths, ruler of what were once duchies. Lesser women became Argo's, ruling over what were counties. And Zoe was now crowned Athina of Greece. Oh God...Oh God!

Urban II opened his mouth to speak. But nothing came out. Sure, he had called the Second Crusade. But he knew no one would, or could, answer. He felt himself slipping away...slowly, every moment seemed to be borrowed time. He had read his Bible much in the past few days. Was this his legacy?

He felt his heart skip a beat. Yes, it seemed it was.

Pope Urban II, sitting quietly after about a minute, fell out of his chair in a Papal Conclave, reached for the sky, mumbled something under his breath, and died. A great procession was held for Christendoms greatest failure. May God have mercy on his soul.

A few days later, the vote was on. A new Pope was needed that instant. So voting was quick, simple and easy. The next day, he was introduced as Pope for the first time.

The guard beat his shield. "His Holiness, Pope Paschal II!" He walked with meaning in his step. He had a job to do. He had to save Christianity.

By God, he was going to do it.

 _Cairo, October, the year of Allah 476_

Sultan of the largest Muslim empire, Al-Musta'li was frightened beyond belief. One day he woke up to Crusaders in Nicaea. The next day he woke up to monsters in his mind. Then a few weeks later, he heard of troubling reports from areas beyond his control. On the sandy dunes of the Arabian Peninsula, he heard reports that Bedouin tribes were retreating from an army of Jinn, led by a warrior Jinn called Al-Hasa'wa, who declared Allah a false god, Muhammad a false prophet, and that he would rule over all the dunes and sands of Earth.

And things didn't get better.

"SIR!" A soldier shouted. An infantry man, with a wicker shield and cheap spear, he was covered in dirt and sand. "YOU MUST COME NOW, MY CALIPH! ALL OF ALLAH AND HIS WORLD DEP-" When, as he was talking, a massive being jumped into the palace. With the head of a dog, and holding two glowing sickles, it stood at about six feet tall. It growled.

An Anubis. Not good, not good at all. Egypt had awoke.

"RUN!" The soldier shouted, before his head was ripped off. The Anubis growled aggressively, and attempted to murder the Caliph, but the Caliph dove to safety. Drawing a scimitar, he slew the monster while he was on the ground. A clean swipe to the beasts head, and the rolling head of a beast was now on his floor. The Caliph stood up, panting and on the verge of tears.

"Get me my personal guard!" He shouted. Running with the fury of a man on the brink of doom, he burst out his palace to see Cairo in disarray. The city, a bastion of Islam, was being assaulted on all sides by ferocious looking beasts. Many of them were so frightening that the Caliph simply started to sputter and spout random words of fear. After a bit, whatever of his court was left and his bodyguards were on their camels, galloping in the streets of Cairo. As he galloped, he saw a most terrible sight.

Having had enough of Allah, the Sphinx had awakened, and was now standing up. It roared, and started a charge toward the city of Cairo. The city went silent. Then a collective scream came out as the foot of a twenty meter tall and seventy meter wide stone statue smashed into the city. Bodies went flying, and what soldiers were left retreated, taking their chances in the Sahara rather then this. And behind the Spinx, as it roared and ate, the Pyramids sat silent. The Caliph, caught by their beauty, found it a little charming and calming to see them do nothing. These massive graves, whatever in them not mattering, were silent. They watched as their descendents began to slaughter Muslim Egypt. This thought brought the Caliph back to reality.

"We must get to the Nile!" His Grand Vizier, Al-afdal Shahansha, shouted. the Caliph nodded, and they began a full gallop toward the waterfront. Then though, a massive creature that stood ten feet tall, with three serpent heads and the body of a leopard appeared. To get to that boat, and to get his court, family, and God to safety, he had to get through this.

The monster was being ridden by a man in some ancient Egypt get up. He held a staff with an Ankh as it's end. He raised it, and the creature, now come to be called a Lepent, charged. It immediatly devoured two of his guards, but the others acting fast, counter-charged and after many casulties defeated the foul beast, and slayed the rider. Then, they all got to the river. A fishing boat was there, getting ready to abandon the place. The Caliph caught up with the boat, and asked for a ride. Luckily, the sailor was a devout follower of Allah.

Sailing away, Caliph Al-Musta'li saw his city burn.

 _Limerick, December, the year of Danann 4098 (AD 1098)_

"You would think that the people living here would pose a challenge." Ailill said. He pushed another set of Eire Christians into the pit. Then he threw in the torch. Behind him, adruid was practicing a ritual to bless the place. The yellow aura around her was calming. His fellow, a swordmaiden named Aine, laughed.

"I didn't. These Christians are so predictable. You come to their monasteries and churches with swords, and they try to convert you." She put all four of her arms up in the air, above her wild hair. "'Look out, it's the Danann! Better get out our big book of lies and stupidity!' What a crock of shit, eh?"

"Now, don't be too hard on the poor people." Ailill turned around, and holding four swords that each had two blades coming from each end (which totals to, like, eight blades), he put them to the necks of the seven or so Irish soldiers who attempted to sneak up on him. "Now what's this?"

The Irish then began screaming something they couldn't understand. After slaughtering them, he threw them in the fire too.

"You know, I think it's good." Aine said. She stretched out, as they headed back to the camp outside Limerick. "The clouds, the air, the green grass. It's a nice change from Tir na nOg. Though, that place is beautiful." She yawned, and put two arms around Ailill's shoulders. "Maybe you and me could, you know, stop for a minute." She started to lower her arms down his back. He chuckled, and pushed them aside.

"Later, mil. But now, we have a job to do. But you tempt me, I'll say that." He kissed her. He adjusted his chainmail, and kept walking. As they did, several Irish farmers watched in awe. If they were quiet, maybe they would go away.

"That was quick." A few minutes later, the Irish farmer community was chained and being walked back with the two. "Though, I always wondered what human tasted like." Ailill licked his lips. Did they taste like chicken?

A few minutes later, he had his answer, when he ate a child who wouldn't stop crying. No, they actually tasted like lamb in his opinion.


	5. Greek Resisted

Greek Resisted

 _ **Come and take them. -King Leonidas of Sparta**_

 _Corfu, March, the year of Hellas 1246 (1100 AD)_

Jason was a simple man. A farmer by day, a reader by night, he gave occasional mass at his local church. He cared little what happened in Rome. He didn't even really care about the change in rulership in Athens, now called Athenai by strangely dressed travelers. Zoe, queens, rulers. It meant little to him. He cared if his crops came up, and if his mass was held.

That all changed a few weeks ago, when a child from the village ran up to him. He was in his field, tending to his crops, when the child suddenly was at his feet. He was crying, screaming and begging for help.

"Little one, what is wrong?" Jason asked.

"My mom! My mom!" The little boy, an excitable kid named Percy, had a young mother. She was, apparently, a harlot. She had been caught with a married man some years ago, and the man had thrown her under the bus at the speed of sound. Harod gave her food and some money so that she may help her soon to be birthed son. Harod never thought about it after that, until now.

"What's wrong with your mom?" Harod asked. He was twenty years her senior and was hoping this was not some trick for her to marry him.

"Please, I think it's that Gods stuff!" Harod froze.

Well, he _didn't_ care about all that Hellenism nonsense. But now? Well, it seemed he was being forced to confront it. Donning a slightly better tunic and grabbing his Bible, he turned to the kid, who was still crying.

"Do you know if she is dangerous?" Harod asked. The boy, calmed for a moment, looked at him.

"Uh-uh!" He shook his head fervently. Harod put his hand over his mouth in contemplation. What was he to do? Kill her was the most logical route. But he hated violence, generally preferring to stay with a plough. Not to mention that he didn't like seeking out duels or things of that nature. His time in the Byzantine army had taught him all that.

But what kind of man would he be, rather, what kind of Christian would he be if he just let the next Zoe waltz out his village and slaughter his people? He was their priest. And with no Byzantium, he would take up protecting them.

"You think it's that Greek Gods stuff?" Harod asked. He needed to know.

"Yea! She's all glowy, and * _sniff*_ she keeps saying "Eli Eli lama sabachthani" The kid didn't come close to saying it right, but it put Harods neck hairs on end. This was not Greek Myth.

It was the word of God.

"Kid." Harod got on his knee. He ran his hand through the kid's hair. "Take me home. I'll help you." He smiled. The kid, still sniveling and on the verge of tears at every moment, followed close behind.

The countryside of Corfu was nice. Rolling fields, with a few hills and the seas to add a view. Of course, one could see the strange monsters who now inhabited the deep, which made fishing a near impossibility, unless you had balls of iron.

As headed into the village, a small procession was gathered at the entrance. A group of women, dressed in iron armor and with newly made iron shields and short iron swords, were around a few people.

"…We are here to spread the joy of Athena!" The lead said. Harod, though he would've liked to say something snarky in return, would rather have kept on living. He sneaked past the armed preachers and slipped into the city.

After a small bit of looking around, he found the house. No one was near, but a slight moan was coming from inside. People who walked past were just ignoring it, until a priest showed up. Most of them hadn't seen a priest around these parts since magic returned. So when one, dressed in heavenly rags and with a tattered Bible, showed up at a moaning woman's house, they realized it wasn't plague.

The villagers gathered around. Soon, the Daughters of Athena (As they liked to style themselves) were nearing. The kid, his head buried in Harod's tunic, tugged on his leg.

"What is it little one?" Harod said.

"Is my mom gonna be okay?"

"Let's find out. I need you to come in with me. Can you do that?"

The kid nodded. Opening the door, Harod walked into quite a sight. On the ground, the mother was laying and clutching her stomach. There was a light colored, pasty looking vomit on the floor which seemed to move and squirm. Everything that could be on the floor was, and the table was broke in half.

The woman wasn't better, arguably worse somehow then the mess of a house. Her eyes were changing color every couple of seconds, a rainbow spectrum going on in her iris'. Her whole body was glowing a light golden aura, her skin seemed to be crawling with maggots, and her voice was horse and distorted.

"God?" She said.

"No. A farmer you met a couple years ago." Harod walked, slowly and with fear, up to her. The citizens were now piling in, the bravest of them at least. A few watched in total fear. The voices of the Daughters of Athena trying to keep everyone calm rang.

"What's wrong?" Harod asked.

"What's it look like, fucker?" She spit it out like it was poison. Every word probably hurt.

"Now, you're going to have to tell me what's going on if you want my hel—" But Harod was cut off by her shouts of pain. Distorted, like they were from another realm, she started shouting Bible verses. While most were random and not actually correct, he heard it.

"Eli Eli lama sbachthani!" She shouted. "Father, why?!" Harod backed up.

The Daughters of Athena came in. One had two short swords, one had he fists, and the other had magic. They closed in around Harod and Percy. Percy started to ball. Harod looked at them. Then, with one last trick up his sleeve, he put the Bible up.

"LET THERE BE LIGHT!"

There was a flash. A screaming moment as everyone was blinded. Then, a voice.

" _I am Paul of Tarsus, from the Lords Domain Above. Heathens have taken arms against our people. The Pontifex in Rome is incapable of stopping it. Only people like you can do that now. Go, take this woman to the Hagia Sophia, and she will gain her abilities as an Angel of God. You will be her shepherd. Go now, Harod. You are the next Prophet."_

When Harod opened his eyes, the Daughters had retreated. The woman was okay, somewhat. Her skin was not crawling like maggots, so that was good.

He now had a reason. Though he wasn't sure of it yet, he had been told by Paul. And while he would usually by questioning of this, he chose to believe it. After all, in times as dark as these, perhaps he better take the word of God.

The woman, for her worth, looked at him with an understanding sight.

"Farmer man…Are you going to help me?"

Harod sighed. He looked at Percy.

"I think I will."

They quickly ran from the house, as the Daughters of Athena were just clearing their eyes a little ways away. Stealing some poor sods horse, they galloped off. The three began their journey to the resting place of God.


	6. White Eagles

The White Eagles

 _ **I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies, but not the madness of people.  
-Sir Isaac Newton**_

 _Plock, April, the year of our Lord 1100_

The nation of Poland had been beset by monsters from the east. Yes, monsters. Witches and their terrifying creatures attempted to destroy the Polish people, but as is their nature, they stood up to the very test of Gods they didn't know much of, and their resolve was holding.

Yet, inside the country people began to convert to the heathen myths of the Slavs. Yes, Poland was Slavic, but they were Slavs saved by Christ. Now, though, the people of Poland were being lured back into the deceptions of myths.

King Wladyslaw Herman was not going to let that happen. Hearing of the events back in France, and of the enslavement of Ireland, he knew what his fate was. Or even worse.

Scouts coming back from the east say that the Rus and all their brothers and sisters are dead. Their bodies line the roads, the trees, the rivers and the fields. All of the far east Slavs were gone, finally closing a chapter on history. They were gone, dust in the wind.

An army led by a Slavic man who called himself Karkond was approaching. King Herman wasn't ready, and he never would be. No matter what he thought, or what he did, he knew in his heart it was hopeless. He had to do something to placate the people. To make them fear something other then the Baba Yaga, and the vampires, and the men who served them.

So, in accordance with tradition, he promptly rounded up all the Jews in Poland. Loosing his god damned mind, King Herman declared that the Jews were at fault for what was happening in the world.

The local Rabbis, who had fled to Poland because it was supposed to be to far from anyone who wanted to kill them, were resisting to the best of their ability. But their banks were being looted for the money they had, while money still mattered. It was all delivered to the King. The King then slaughtered all of the Jews he could. It amounted to about thirty, since most had the sense to just go west.

"My King?" A soldier asked.

"What?!" King Herman answered with spite. Why was this soldier asking him things?

"Well, uhh, I was ju—"

"It's women!" The King shouted, sudden and with a shaking voice. His eyes darted around the room. Yes, yes, harlots and whores who had decided to serve their base, whore desires. They had to be stopped! All of them! ALL OF THEM!

"What?" The soldier whispered.

"I heard that! Get out! Tell the commanders I want all the women of Poland forcibly cut! Grab their undercarriages and cut their clitoris'! So that they may never feel pleasure!" The soldier was dumbfounded. "DO WHAT I ASK! I know what I say, and I say the truth! Then, make sure every woman is serving as a house wife. In fact, have the army round up all the duchess' and countess' in the land!"

The soldier tip toed out.

A few days later, hugging his gold and eyeing his wife with suspicion, ten women rulers were brought to the King.

"Aha! Found you!"

"We are always here to serve you King He—"

"Shut up!" King Herman said, and promptly cut the duchess head off. Everyone shouted in fear and confusion. Several people ran out the door. The other rulers tried to run, but several soldiers too afraid to move blocked them.

"You whores did this! You and all other women in Poland are witches!? Right? Fuck! How didn't I know it!" King Herman then threw a goblet he had at a mirror, which broke. "OH FUCK! NOW I HAVE BAD LUCK!"

Everyone was terrified.

"Now, back to it…" The King had, as you can tell, lost his mind. He was living in his own fantasy, in his own head, and was frightened of the very concept of women now. He knew they were all involved. It was because, because, because they had decided to have their own thoughts, their own feelings. They were no longer connected to the men in their life, which had led them to summon he ancient magics of a world lost long before anyone on Earth in 1100 was born.

Logical. Just how King Herman liked it.

"My King!" One shouted. "We are not witches! We are good Christian women, like you are a good Christian man!"

"I AM A CHRISTIAN, AND YOU ARE A BITCH!" King Herman shouted. Throwing several gold coins at the wall, he shouted about his mother. She was always a bitch to him.

"Put them on the ground." The women knew what was going to happen. A messenger was sent out to their sons, and they were told that they now ruled those duchies and counties. Of course, two of them had already converted to Slavic Mythology and were now training mages.

The knife that King Herman pulled out was barely big enough to slice a mans neck open. But it had other duties to do. And if you wanted, it could fit up a skirt.

Oh God.

 _Athenai, May, the year of Hellas 1246 (1100 AD)_

Zoe was sitting quietly, and reading a good book. She liked to be alone sometimes, the hustle and bustle of her new life a hastle to say the least. It was better then being a peasant woman to say the least, and while she still had nightmares about that Western brute from a few years back, she was happy now.

Her reforms in budget had led to Greece starting to reboot. Infrastructure was being created and repaired, the army was being rebuilt, and all over the Hellenic world, a sense of pride was returning to the cradle of Western Civilization.

"My Athina." Castor said. He was dressed in updated Greek armor, with an iron helmet and suit of iron armor, with a smaller hoplites shield and a long sword. The symbol of Athens was on all the shields now.

"Castor, you can call me Zoe. I know you too well." She stood up. She was in a toga, and strutted over to Castor. It was strange, standing so much taller over everyone. Especially a lover like Castor. She kissed him. "So, is the army ready?"

"The soldiers are ready. Your commanders are at the ready too." Castor looked around. He sighed. "Weird, huh? Lot different then Nuz."

"Tell me." She said. She laughed. "I like it."

"Me too. No Cadimarus and no church breathing down our neck."

"I remember you being a better Christian!" Zoe said, giving a light hit to Castor. It had to be a light hit. She gave a hard punch to a soldier once, and it sent him flying into the Aegean Sea. Her strength was immense.

"Better actor." Castor laughed heartily. She did love the man dear.

"Well, let's get to it. Hera?" A woman, one of the four with Zoe originally came out.

"Yes, Athina?"

"Keep the place warm."

 _Countryside outside Thessaloniki_

The smell of the countryside was far better then the smell of Athens. A sewer system was going to take time, and she knew it would never be grand like the Romans or Greeks built. But when she was out among the wheat and fields, she felt anew. When she felt her spear, her fists, the magic coursing through her. She put on her helmet. Her black hair blew in the wind, short it may be. Her toga was underneath a chest plate of magic bronze, leg plates of magic bronze, gauntlets of magic bronze.

Castor looked at her.

"You look great today." He said with a coy charm.

"You look small." She said.

"HEATHENS!" Came a shout over the fields. The hills around this place were good defensive places. The commanders, all women who commanded armies of men, laughed at the shout. "BEWARE THE FIRES OF CHRISTENDOM! YOU FOUL HARLOTS WON'T WIN TODAY!"

It was about five hundred poorly armed zealots, out to restore God to Athenai, the Hagia Sophia, their hearts, and their minds. Fools, of course. Brave. But fools, nonetheless.

"Can we get this over with?" Zoe said to Castor. Castor chuckled.

Zoe charged in first. Sure, it's easy to _say_ you're going to fight an eight foot tall warrior woman with a shield and the blessing of Athena.

To do it? Well, the zealots suddenly realized what eight feet of pure muscle and magic looks like.

She delighted in it, the slaughter. All those years of frustration, now taken out on stupid fools who questioned her. Her spear whipped through the fools. Her soldiers cut down anyone trying to run. She summoned bolts of fire and rained them down upon the enemies. The commander's road their horses right into the shields and shattered the wooden things.

She picked up one man by his neck, and threw him away like a doll. She kicked another like a football, and his head went up and out. She had fun doing it. Blood was soaking the earthen sod. The air was painted red, the sky watching in horror at the slaughter.

Finally, everyone was dead. All five hundred, gone and dusted. Castor was nearby when it was all said and done. She looked at him, covered in blood, his bright brown facial hair wafting a bit.

She grabbed him, and passionately locked lips with him. They made out, covered in blood and entrails among the dead bodies of people who were fighting for their homes.

 _Athenai_

"What?" Zoe said.

"Yes. I believe that some one who calls himself Harod is making his way to Constantinople. He intends to awaken an angel of god."

Zoe laughed. An angel of god? Really?

"God isn't real." She said.

"Yes, Atheni." Hera walked out the room, and went back to do other business.

Zoe laughed. What nonsense was this, to think that God was real. Such pure, pure nonsense.

 _Plock, June, the year of our Lord 1100_

Father Coughlin was frightened. The King, who had lost it sometime ago, had called him in.

He was the first non-noble to see the King in a month or two. He held a Bible close to his chest. He was ready.

He wasn't.

"My King! It's…" He was speechless. The rulers who had gone missing were all there, dressed as sex slaves. Their hair was haggard, their eyes were baggy, their mouths looked chapped and their stares looked blank and desolate. They were not the rulers he saw a year ago at a meeting.

"The rulers? I know. I have put them in their place. I merely called you here so that you may see what a _true_ Christian looks like." The King stood up, and slapped one of his slaves. "Slave! Get me food!" She nodded, and ran toward the kitchen.

Father Coughlin wanted to puke. He wanted to run, but he couldn't. He could hear the soldiers around him breathing heavily. The King, with a wild look in his eye, smiled.

"WheN the Slav MoNsters CamE and WEre repulsed…" His voice was strange sounding, not consistent and almost stupid. He licked his lips. "DO you tHink this is WHY?"

Father Coughlin just shook his head. The King frowned.

"Leave." Father Coughlin ran, only looking back to see one of the chained women, once rulers, beg with her eyes for release.

Any release.

Father Coughlin had to do something. He had to do something about this.


End file.
